


Something I've Not Known Before

by uninvitedtrashcan



Category: Dirk Gently - Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Blanket Fic, Caretaking, DGHDA Valentine's Mini Bang, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Sickfic, Todd is the resident Mom Friend and makes chicken soup, and touching, because idiots, but like... no one will admit to it, there's lots of Dirk wrapped in blankets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uninvitedtrashcan/pseuds/uninvitedtrashcan
Summary: Dirk Gently has never been sick before. Dirk Gently does not do getting sick.But if it means that Todd is going to fuss over him and keep looking at him with such devotion, well— maybe the universe knows what it's doing.
Relationships: Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94
Collections: DGHDA Valentine's Mini Bang 2020





	Something I've Not Known Before

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the DGHDA Valentine's Bang. Vague allusions to The Dolphin Paradox. Because I have a mighty love.
> 
> To be re-edited when I have a brain again (aka, likely never.)

Todd and Dirk’s trip to the aquarium is definitely not a date. It is for a case. That people who pass them will possibly assume they are a couple, given how close they keep, and how Dirk keeps chattering right whilst leaning over to Todd’s ear (it’s noisy in there, ok?), is irrelevant. 

“Oh cool, they have jellyfish,” Todd says. This is an implicit prompt for Dirk to proceed to list off some obscure fact about this particular species of jellyfish, as he has been doing for every exhibit they’ve passed by thus far. Todd hasn’t had the heart to point out that they’re supposed to be here for an investigation, _investigating_ , since seeing Dirk get all haughty and a little over-excited as he shows off is weirdly endearing.

Which is why Todd feels the absence when Dirk fails to launch into a speech. In fact, Dirk says nothing at all. 

“Dirk?” Todd asks, turning to see if the holistic detective has been holistically called elsewhere by the universe. But no, there Dirk is, standing rooted next to Todd, gaze distant, a little glazed over. He’s also gone oddly pink around the cheeks, neck, and ears. “Dirk?” Todd asks again.

Dirk looks at him. He opens his lips to speak, closes them, opens, and then starts leaning towards Todd. He leans so close that he’s putting his hand on Todd’s shoulder, their faces awfully close as he says, 

“Todd, I think I—”

And then Dirk collapses.

Todd goes into panic mode. Things have been going too smoothly since they busted Dirk out of Blackwing _and_ saved not one but two worlds. They’re at an aquarium for pity’s sake; things have been positively domestic, their latest case more _weird_ than threatening and murder-filled. Sure, it’s been kind of nice, hanging out with Dirk without a constant threat at their back, spending evenings introducing Dirk to good music or having Dirk force him to sit through reality television (Dirk remains equally baffled and delighted by the mundanity of it all, of ‘real life’ without his holistic instincts kicking in every few minutes).

But now Dirk is on his back, lying on the floor, with a growing swarm of concerned citizens stopping to look at him. Todd dives down next to him, feeling for a pulse. Has Blackwing decided to be done with Dirk’s meddling and wipe him out? Are the Rowdy 3 back to viewing Dirk as a great snack? Is this just the universe throwing yet another inconvenience into the works?

Dirk has a pulse. Upon further pressing of Todd’s fingers to Dirk’s skin, it becomes clear that he also has a fever. 

*

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill? If you reached the point of collapsing—”

“I didn’t. Or at least, I don’t think I did. I don’t know. I’ve never been sick before.” 

Todd and Dirk stare at one another, Todd scowling in frustration, Dirk trying to scowl in indignation, but it’s difficult to look high and mighty when everything feels like it’s spinning and his nose is running. It also doesn’t help that he’s in Todd’s apartment, currently tucked under the duvet of Todd’s bed, and well— _Todd’s bed_. 

He is surrounded by Todd-smell and it is making it very tricky to focus through the aching fog in his head. This is all very unfair. 

“Besides, I’m fine. It was just stuffy in there.” He doesn’t want Todd looking at him like that, all frowning, arms folded over his chest, standing so close to him. It’s giving Dirk a very uncomfortable sensation in his stomach that he is eager to push away when he’s feeling so exposed and useless. “At least let me go back to HQ.”

“ _Absolutely_ not. Why didn’t you tell me that you’d been sleeping there? _On the floor_.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. And what’s wrong with the floor? It’s very convenient for when we get a new case.”

“And your old apartment?”

“Oh, I lost it. Well. Misplaced it. It’s all rather complicated.” Sighing, Todd mutters something under his breath before glaring at Dirk again. 

“On the _floor_ , Dirk. This is why you’ve got a fever.”

Dirk would argue further, but suddenly he can’t sit up anymore, his body forcing him to snake down into the Todd-smelling pillows. This is bad. This is very bad. He’s ready to be yelled at again, defenceless like this, sure to be exposed (how long till Todd figures out why of course Dirk couldn’t ask to stay with him, why he would never be able to sleep with Todd so close?). Only then, instead of more bickering, he feels silence and a warm weight pressing down against the mattress beside him. 

Todd’s feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. Todd is very close, looking down at him with that same brow-knitted frowning expression. Oh. _Oh_. He’s not angry. 

He’s concerned. 

Something drops right out the bottom of Dirk’s stomach, and suddenly he’s silent for reasons far beyond the aching of his throat and head. It feels like Todd is touching him for hours and maybe this isn’t so bad after all. 

Or it’s very, very bad. Dangerous, even. Dirk can feel his impulse control hanging around rock bottom in light of the spinning in his head and the way his whole body is so responsive so rapidly. 

“I’m fine, Todd,” Dirk insists, trying to make his voice sound less like it’s coming through a grater. “Really. Just—”

“Stay here,” Todd orders with such firm authority that Dirk doesn’t dare protest. “I’m going to get meds and a glass of water, and then you’re going to sleep.” 

“Where— where will you sleep?” Dirk asks, and for one delirious moment he’s only able to think about how this is a double bed and—

“On the couch. It pulls out.” 

“Oh.” This is good, Dirk tells himself. Except for the fact that he’s _in Todd’s bed_. And Todd’s going to be sleeping in the next room. And Todd keeps getting so close. 

“I’m not sick,” Dirk says, voice small and pathetic as Todd leaves the room.

*

Despite a conviction that he could _never_ sleep with Todd so nearby, could never sleep surrounded by all this Todd-smell, Dirk passes out barely seconds after Todd has forced him to down two pills and a glass of water. 

He wakes up to Todd’s face less than a metre from him. Then Dirk realises that he’s currently smooshed face down, drooling against Todd’s pillows. 

He sits up with a violent jerk and regrets it. 

Why would anyone ever choose to get sick? What a horrid business. 

It’s less horrid when Todd does this small soft half-smile and puts down the book he’s been reading, enthroned in a chair pulled up to Dirk’s bedside. “Hey sleeping beauty,” Todd says, voice warm and thick and there’s this smirk in it that has Dirk narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Todd’s smirk widens and he shrugs. “You’re really an impressive snorer.” 

“ _I’m sick_ ,” Dirk says with utter contempt for the accusation. He does not snore. 

“So you finally admit it.” 

Dirk has to judge between the lesser of two very evil evils. Snoring is out of the question, but if he’s sick, if Todd sees how actually being sick isn’t so bad because Todd is sitting by his bedside—

“I’m fine. I’ve just got a bit of a cold.” His head feels like it’s about to be split in two. “How— How long did I sleep?” 

“Just a few hours.” It’s Todd’s turn to go a little pink. “Sorry for— you know, _watching_ you. Just wanted to check your fever whenever you woke up before bed.”

“What time is it?”

“About two in the morning.”

And that’s when Dirk sees that Todd’s in his pyjamas (boxers and a faded band shirt), hair mused, looking a little worse for wear for the late hour. Something about this dishevelled Todd makes Dirk very aware of how his skin feels like it’s on fire. 

“Sorry to keep you up,” he mumbles, that guilt run through with this curling warm feeling in his abdomen. 

“Don’t worry about it. Google just said that the first night might be when the fever gets worse. Wanted to check we didn’t need to get you to hospital.” Todd’s going pinker. He's using his rambling voice that Dirk most associates with his feeling guilty or his talking about music. Which makes no sense, because Dirk is the one who’s forcing him to be sitting there, playing nurse. 

Or maybe Dirk and the fog and the fever are just misinterpreting things. He doesn’t feel very holistic detective right now. In fact, he’d like to know why the bloody hell the universe saw fit to throw _this_ his way? What possible benefit could feeling like this have?

He sort of answers his own question when Todd offers him a fresh glass of water in a two-in-the-morning rough voice. Dirk scowls when he accepts it, of course, because he doesn’t _need_ to be fussed over, and he certainly doesn’t like it. 

He allows himself two moments of giddy smiling and pressing a pillow to his chest when Todd leaves to grab a thermometer. 

*

Dirk never knew he was capable of sleeping so much. The next few days (few days!) are a blur of Todd’s face, Todd’s hands, and feeling like he’s plummeting downwards into Todd’s bed sheets. The sense of vertigo and nausea is so strong that several times upon awakening, he forgets to protest against all this. When he does remember, Todd just smirks and says ‘yes, Dirk’. 

Farah visits once or twice, which is nice. She’s also doing the concerned frowning face, but with her it’s different from Todd. She keeps her distance and starts catching him up on everything he’s missed at the agency every time he comes to, which is lovely but he can’t understand a word of it right now. She promises several times to keep him in the loop if anything interesting happens, and to make sure everything runs smoothly in his absence. Apparently she’s tracked down several leads in the space of the past three days, and Dirk thinks she’s amazing, but he’s also a little relieved when she’s gone. 

Todd is quiet. And there. And somehow seems to know the exact right time when to come check on him, when to give him space, when to bring him offerings of food or, in one particularly special moment, when Dirk is unusually delirious with fever, Todd knows how good and grounding it feels to have Todd leaning over the side of the bed, stroking his fingertips lightly over Dirk’s forehead. He’s too far gone to feel self-conscious about it, mainly just whimpering because it _hurts_ and being sick _sucks_. Todd is chuckling and murmuring something, and Dirk doesn’t hear a word of it but he knows that it’s perfect.

“You’re _good_ at this,” Dirk tells him one morning, with narrow suspicion. He never thought Todd would be the type to be good at this, which, he realises in retrospect, is ridiculous. When he met Todd, his main goal in life was to protect and help his sister, even if it was out of a deep well of guilt. He’s stuck by Dirk, hasn’t he, helping out someone who only ever drags him into danger. He’s always so concerned about what is right and what you should or shouldn’t do, even if he’s exasperated half the time at what he _has_ to do and the situations the universe drags him into. 

Of course Todd is good at looking after people. And yet somehow Dirk feels tricked, like Todd has been hiding all of this under the deliberation and bitching and hesitation to leap into action. 

“I guess,” Todd says with a shrug, eating his own toast in the chair-pulled-up-to-Dirk’s-bedside. “Got sick a lot when trying to save on money for the band. Then just lived in a lot of shitholes. Then Amanda was sick and that was different but not really, in the beginning.” He’s looking at the far wall, but in that way where his head is somewhere entirely other. Blinking, he looks back at Dirk. Shrugs again, a bashful smirk struggling to form against the too-much toast in his mouth. “Plus I don’t want to think about what the universe would do to me if I let you die from the damn flu.” 

Dirk, who gave up on his toast after two painful mouthfuls, sinks back into the pillows. He feels zen and floating and possibly a little high from the meds Todd resorted to for his headaches. “You’re a good person, Todd,” Dirks says, in a voice that he thinks makes him sound like a wise old sage. “I like you.”

*

By day four, Dirk has graduated from being confined to the bed to invading the territory of the sofa. Todd has permitted this only on the grounds that he remains well wrapped up. Subsequently, the moment Dirk crawled (rather pathetically) his way to the sofa, Todd proceeded to wrap him up in blankets and presented him with a hot water bottle. Dirk protested, claiming that he was boiling, only to find himself _freezing_ a few minutes later. He gives up, accepts his status as a human burrito, and tries not to feel too sorry for himself. 

Day four has brought with it many changes. The world is no longer spinning quite so much, but now Dirk’s nose is permanently red, running, and he feels like he’s going to start crying at random intervals in the day for no good reason. He _hates_ having to use tissues, which feel dirty and gross and like Todd must surely want to throw him out, and Dirk tries his best to keep them confined to the waste bin, even when he’s on box number three and the pile is getting ridiculously high. 

Even through his blocked nose though, he becomes aware of a smell. A heavenly smell. A smell that makes him feel held and seen and safe. A smell that says _home_. “What is that?” Dirk asks, trying to sniff but it just ends up a super gross sniffle and now his ears are burning from something other than a fever. 

“Oh.” Todd’s voice comes from the kitchen, a little surprised and, unless Dirk is going mad, sounding a little embarrassed. “I— uh. Read online that chicken soup is good for when you’re sick. I used to just get Amanda store stuff but apparently it’s better if it’s homemade, so.” There’s a pause. “It might not be very good.” 

It is very good. It is bloody _phenomenal_. Sure, the carrots are undercooked, and Todd put in pretty much every ingredient a web article told him helped with the flu despite their ill-suiting soup, and also there’s possibly an entire container of cinnamon in there, but Dirk doesn’t care. It tastes amazing, and for the first time in four days, he can eat something without feeling like death. 

“Sorry it’s a bit…” Todd mumbles, sitting on the sofa next to Dirk eating his own bowl, which is a set up that makes all of this even more perfect. 

“ _No_ ,” Dirk says, sharp, blunt, direct. “Todd. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You are not allowed to apologise.” 

“It’s just soup.”

“It’s _perfect_.”

Red-eared, Todd goes silent and tends to his soup. Dirk has already finished his, somehow still wants more, but doesn’t say anything. He pretends to be spooning at the dregs in his bowl, whilst using the moment to watch Todd; Todd, a little flushed, sitting cross-legged, the blanket resting over one of his knees, his sweatpants ridden up against the couch so that Dirk can see his ankles and the slope of his calves. Dirk has seen Todd in shorts before, but somehow this feels like an indecent degree of exposure and it all makes Todd seem very, very close. 

“I’m going to get seconds,” Dirk announces, and he doesn’t miss the way it has Todd biting back on a smile.

*

Todd still insists that Dirk spend nights in his bed, himself taking the sofa, but the days pass with the two of them chilling in the living room. It’s kind of like normal, only Todd keeps much closer and keeps offering Dirk things. 

Meanwhile, Dirk has stopped insisting that he isn’t sick. This has a great deal to do with the fact that he’s no longer sure that he _is_ sick. His throat no longer hurts that much, and sure he’s still a bit sniffly, but he actually has _energy_ again. He is in the best position possible to win the ‘I’m not sick’ argument, and it’s _awful_.

Every time he catches himself moving too quickly, or speaking too brightly, he has to reign it back in. He affects a whiny, creaky kind of voice, and does his best to sniff pathetically every time Todd comes near. 

“You still not feeling any better?” Todd asks, with buckets of sympathy in his tone. He isn’t even remotely prepared for the way that Dirk gets all tearful in response and mumbles a pitiful ‘no’. 

But what else is Dirk supposed to do? The past seven or so days have been— well, he doesn’t remember a lot of it, and he’s pretty sure he hallucinated half the times Todd stroked his forehead, but nonetheless he’s never felt like this; never felt so cared for, so _loved_. And maybe it’s not the kind of love he’s starting to realise he feels for Todd, but it’s a caring, holding kind of love nonetheless and he’s never really had that either. Dirk knows that it’s selfish, but he isn’t ready to give that up. Not quite yet. 

He possibly crosses a line when he takes to sprawling on the sofa, moaning about how he is dying. Todd looks at him from the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand, frowning. Or maybe he’s smirking. It’s hard to tell through the cushions Dirk is dramatically crushing his face into. 

“You sound brighter,” Todd notes, cruelly exposing why Dirk got kicked out of that one musical theatre group he was trying to infiltrate for a case.

“I feel _awful_ ,” Dirk insists, sticking his head up to make sure Todd believes him. Given how he’s grinning into his coffee, it’s going to be a hard sell. 

“If you think you’re up to it, do you want to watch a movie?” 

Dirk deliberates. If he says yes, will it expose that he’s no longer sickening? But if he says no, then he’s missing out on getting to watch Todd watching a movie. This latter option would be a very tragic loss: Todd, momentarily losing his usual self-consciousness, snickering and snorting at a comedy or tense and grabbing the sofa during a thriller is quite the exhibit. 

“ _Maybe_ ,” Dirk allows, as a compromise. Todd takes that as a confirmation. 

They put on what has become their favourite movie to watch together: _A Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy_ . Dirk thinks it makes a perfectly good amount of sense, and Todd finds it baffling, unless he’s stoned, in which case he finds so much meaning in it that Dirk is left feeling like he’s not holistic at all, and Todd is the one keyed into the universe. Also, it makes Todd laugh alouc _constantly_ , and that’s reason enough for Dirk. 

As they watch the opening scenes of Martin Freeman doddering about being confused and British, Dirk becomes aware that Todd is trying to say something. He does this thing where his shoulders tense and his lips _almost_ part, kind of twitching. Once he spots Dirk looking at him in expectation, Todd sighs, and looks elsewhere. Frowning at a poster on the wall, he says, 

“Bit cold. Can I— Let me steal some of the blanket?” 

Dirk blinks at him. A beat, and then he’s rushing, forgetting to play sick, because sharing a blanket with Todd feels like a very good bad idea. Todd shuffles closer so that they can both be wrapped up properly. Their knees are touching. Dirk’s temperature feels higher than it ever was when he had a fever. 

When Todd has settled they’re pressed thigh to thigh, shoulders bumping a little whenever Todd fidgets. Dirk keeps perfectly still. He dares not move, convinced that he will somehow scare Todd away, that Todd will _feel_ in the brush of their limbs what this week has been to him. How now that he’s not sleepy all the time or dizzy, he’s remembering all that touching and time spent together, Dirk a mess, and his whole body feels shot through with embarrassment and a strange kind of thrill. Because Todd is still here, even after all that. Because Todd is sitting so close to him. 

Not seeing the movie, Dirk plays with the corner of the blanket. It now smells like him and Todd, their scents mixed together. He leans into it, pressing his face into where it’s wrapped over his shoulder. It’s a good smell. 

Todd is looking at him. Flushing and pulling his head up, Dirk looks anywhere but at Todd for a moment. An unknown kind of courage takes a hold of him, possibly the remains of the fever, possibly just a reaction to the knowledge that this is coming to an end. He straightens, looks at Todd, and says, 

“Todd, thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Todd replies quickly, eyes flickering back and forth between Dirk and the television, a little too fast for him to be focusing on the movie. “I would have just been on the case with you anyway if you were fine.” He laughs. “Making sure you don’t die is kind of my job now, I guess. And this is loads easier than busting you out of Blackwing.”

Dirk shakes his head. He’s reaching for something, and he needs Todd to understand. “No. It’s— Todd, I’ve never had anyone look after me before. Unless you count Blackwing, which, uh, big shock, I don’t.” Dirk’s using his theatrical narration voice and he hates himself for it. He wants to sound calm and soft and genuine, the way Todd did all those times by his bedside. He wants Todd to understand that he feels that, wants _that_ beyond just being sick and sniffly. 

Todd looks elsewhere, biting the inside of his cheek. He avoids asking Dirk about Blackwing, and Dirk avoids talking about it. Maybe someday they’ll get into it, but right now, that’s not what Dirk wants to focus on. 

“What I want to say,” Dirk tries again, putting a hand on Todd’s knee under the blanket, where it rests against his own, “is thank you. Really.” He pulls his shoulders back a little bit for courage and adds, “I feel very lucky to have you in my life, Todd.”

Todd stares back at him, gradually going a rich shade of pink. It’s endearing but also embarrassing and Dirk has only one real response to such awkward silences, and that is the urge to fill them. 

“I really can’t believe that you can ever stand to still be near me having seen me in such a state, and I’ve probably infected all your blankets and sheets and sofa and _everything_ and now you’re going to get sick too, and I won’t be able to return your kindness because I don’t know the first thing about making soup or even how a thermometer works, but—”

“Dirk,” Todd says, in that perfect gentle tone that Dirk wishes he knew how to return to him. “You’re welcome.” 

Dirk had a good couple of paragraphs of a speech left there, but now he doesn’t know what to say. He stammers a bit, then settles with, “Okay. Good. Thank you for accepting my thanks.” 

Todd laughs, and Dirk thinks that maybe, even if Todd isn’t waiting on him twenty-four-seven, just maybe things are still going to feel kind of wonderful. They settle back into the sofa, and Dirk realises that Todd was keeping his distance only in the fact that now, he’s leaning his full weight against him, so that Dirk can feel the heat of his body through his sweater. 

They watch the rest of the movie like that, pressed together. Dirk may actually still be a little sick, because he loses focus halfway through, drifting off into a kind of waking sleep. He’s watching a supercomputer pronounce the answer to the meaning of life one minute, and the credits are playing before him the next. His head has rolled onto Todd’s shoulder. Todd hasn’t removed it. 

Heavy against Todd like this, Dirk feels the start of something rising in his throat. Something possibly only through the haze and sleepy bliss of this kind of evening, something a part of him feels very uncertain of, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. 

Then Todd sneezes. Once, loudly, with enough force to knock Dirk from his shoulder. Twice. A third time, leaning over his legs and sniffling. He looks back at Dirk. 

(Maybe another time.) 

Dirk gives him a sweet, airy smile, and rests a hand on Todd’s back. “You’re welcome.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
